


Nothing Like The Sun

by missdibley



Series: East Of The Sun, West Of The Moon [2]
Category: Magnus Martinsson - Fandom, Tom Hiddleston - Fandom, Wallander (UK TV), Wallander - All Media Types
Genre: Chicago, F/M, Flirting, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-16
Updated: 2015-06-16
Packaged: 2018-04-04 16:47:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,096
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4145217
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missdibley/pseuds/missdibley
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"When I introduce myself as 'Detective Magnus Martinsson of the Ystad Police Force', I squeeze her hand, gently, wishing the moment when I touched her for the first time could last forever. I feel something in me, a spark, and it’s like I am awake and alert for the first time after a long sleep. I am moved. I want to take her in my arms, feel her lips on the base of my throat, then my jaw, and finally my own lips. But not yet. I don’t even know her name."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nothing Like The Sun

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Solstice](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3750166) by [missdibley](https://archiveofourown.org/users/missdibley/pseuds/missdibley). 



> This work is a re-telling of chapter 1 of "Solstice" from Magnus's point of view. I wrote it to celebrate my fic tumblr (oeffsee.tumblr.com) reaching 100 followers.

“So unless there are any more questions…?” The presenter for the last workshop of the morning holds his pen up in the air, eyebrows arched in question as his audience begins gathering their things. “No? Okay. Thanks again. There are cards by the door with my contact information. Please email…” His words trail off as I get up, grab my bag, and head out the door.

I’ve been in Chicago for 19 hours. I’m only here for another 48 and then I head back to Sweden. Back home where I will get to hear about all the Midsummer parties and celebrations I am missing. The parties I missed because I had to come to the States this weekend. Kurt insisted I attend this rather prestigious conference, to learn more about the latest technology being employed by law enforcement agencies around the world. He even found some money in the budget to cover travel and accommodation, fees and food.

Food. I need food. I’ve never been to Chicago but I have a list of dishes to seek out, a list e-mailed to me by some buddies before I left to come here. Deep-dish pizza is at the top of the list, as are Chicago-style hot dogs, fried cheese curds, and a local, possibly dodgy spirit called Malört.

Across the street from the hotel, there is a convenience store. As I only have about 30 minutes to eat before the next session, it will have to do. It’s noon on the longest, hottest day of the year, and the store’s air conditioning is a soothing tonic to my hot skin. I find a display case of hot dogs, and God help me they look incredible. A smiling clerk makes one for me, then directs me up front to one of the registers when I can pay.

The store is crowded with shoppers, so I have to maneuver past a few people to queue up. I’m withdrawing my wallet from my pocket when I hear it. Or rather, I hear her.

The sound of a woman laughing is always a lovely thing. The sound of this woman laughing is the sound of a bell being struck, a chord that only I can discern. But I don’t see her. Not yet. I look ahead, past a few people, then shuffle as the line moves.

And then the laugh again.

“But what you got is all in the right place!” The owner of that voice is a friendly clerk, who smiles and hands over a box to her customer, who laughs with her.

It’s the customer whose laugh is so charming, so rich, so sweet. I crane my neck around to search for her.

“Thanks, Maurel! Have a good weekend!” She turns away from me so I can only see that she has black hair that falls loosely around her shoulders. I sigh, then wonder how foolish I would be if I dropped my food, ran after her and then… what? Frighten her because I am a stranger, a stranger entranced by the sound of her laugh? I shake my head and step up to pay.

I’m almost at the door when I realize my hot dog is plain. I turn around and approach the friendly clerk.

“Hello. May I ask you something… Maurel?” I get her name from the tag clipped to her pocket.

“Of course, baby. How may I help you?”

“It’s this hot dog. If I wanted it Chicago style, how do I do that?”

“Oh sure, baby. Just go around the corner. There’s toppings - just a little bit of everything we’ve got. But no ketchup.” She shakes her head. “Absolutely none of that.”

“Thank you, ma’am.” I bow a little and the clerk laughs. She catches sight of my badge, which I always wear clipped to my belt at the hip.

“You a cop?”

“Yes, ma’am. Magnus Martinsson, Ystad Police Force, Sweden.”

She whistles. “You’re too cute to be a cop, Snuggums!”

“Snuggums?”

She shrugs. “You look like a Snuggums to me. Excuse me, I gotta take this customer.” She winks at me. “Go around the corner. You’ll find ‘em.”

I follow the counter around to the back of the store, nodding at a few uniformed Chicago police officers who are taking a coffee break by the window. I’m about to introduce myself to them when I see her.

The customer. Standing next to the condiments and toppings for my hot dog. She’s in my path, but I hesitate. I watch her work a machine that dispenses chili, then an orange sauce that appears to to be cheese, on what I recognize as a corn dog. She turns around so I can see her in profile.

She’s beautiful. She’s so beautiful. Hair black as night, with merry eyes nearly as dark. Round cheeks with a smattering of freckles. A hint of cleavage, chest flushed, probably from the heat. She crosses and uncrosses her legs. She must be freezing, as she’s clad only in a sundress with a full skirt, and shoulder straps that keep slipping down. I close my eyes for a second, just for a second, so I can indulge in a vision of that dress, lying on the floor of my hotel suite while she, naked, is in bed on top of me. I open my eyes.

She is sucking an errant blob of cheese off her thumb. Adorable. She’s smiling to herself. I have to say something. Anything. So I do.

“Pardon me? Can I ask you something?” I step forward, plant myself nearly in her way. She turns to face me and my heart stops when her eyes meet mine. I feel myself flush, heat spreading up the back of my neck to my scalp, as she runs her eyes over me.

“Yes? I mean, sure?” She sounds hesitant, but she does smile.

I hold up my hot dog. “If I wanted to eat this Chicago style, what do I do?”

“Oh? Oh!” She steps back, so I step forward, closer to the toppings but, most importantly, closer to her.

When I introduce myself as “Detective Magnus Martinsson of the Ystad Police Force”, I squeeze her hand, gently, wishing the moment when I touched her for the first time could last forever. I feel something in me, a spark, and it’s like I am awake and alert for the first time after a long sleep. I am moved. I want to take her in my arms, feel her lips on the base of my throat, then my jaw, and finally my own lips. But not yet. I don’t even know her name.

“Halla? Pretty, and it’s a Swedish name. Are you Swedish yourself?” I smile at her. She is Halla. Not what I would have expected, but it’s perfect. In Swedish, the word hallå means “hello”. She isn’t Swedish, but Filipino as she explains. The name is from an uncle who was granted the privilege of naming her. He and his wife happened to be in Sweden at the time of her birth.

I watch her lips move as she explains that she is from New York originally. She lives in Chicago, has lived here for years. At some point, she stops to take a sip of her coke, and I realize my throat is dry. I don’t have anything to drink. I wonder if Halla could quench my thirst.

She talks me through the process of making the hot dog properly, smiling as I follow her instructions and top it with mustard and a veritable garden of vegetables. Our hands touch when we both reach for the shaker of celery salt. At this point, after standing next to her, listening to her talk to me in an almost conspiratorial tone, the only thing I have a taste for is her kiss.

We gaze at the hot dog, our masterpiece. It is lurid, almost obscene in its color.

“It looks great, doesn’t it?” I smile, then glance at her.

“Yeah. It really does.” She whispers. I look up and catch her looking, not at the hot dog, but at me. I try not to smirk when she blushes.

“Are you taking that to go?” I nod at her drink and hot dog.

“Yeah. There’s a little park outside, just across Wacker Drive, down by the river. It’s hot but I’m determined to have a picnic.” She bites her lip. “I don’t suppose…”

“I’d love to join you, but I’ve got to take this back to the conference and eat it before my next session starts in…” I check my watch, praying I’ve got all the time in the world to sit outside in the disgusting heat and eat this insane-looking concoction with this sweet, gorgeous woman. But I don’t. “Shit, 15 minutes.”

“Ah. Well, have a nice conference, then, and enjoy the weekend.” She looks a little forlorn, still so lovely. I wonder…

“I know this is short notice but any chance you’re free for dinner tonight?”

Halla looks thoughtful. “Wow that is short notice, or would be if I had plans. Which I don’t.” She frowns. “You know, that sounded a lot less loser-ish in my head.”

I throw my head back and laugh, then follow Halla to the front of the store. We make arrangements to meet for supper, and I give her my card so she can e-mail me when she gets back to her office.

“Of course, it would be nice to get a shower in before tonight, but I don’t think I can get home before then.”

“Maybe you can come back to my hotel room and take one there, before we head out?” I think the invitation is innocent enough but when another vision, this time of a naked Halla sucking my cock in the shower, appears in my head, I am mortified. “Oh my lord, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean…”

“No, it’s okay.” She shakes her head and sighs, then gazes up at me. She bites her lip. “I’ll just, you know, cool off another way. Get another big gulp. Run into a fountain.”

“Well, if you’re sure.”

“I do love hotel showers, and fancy hotel toiletries, so I may change my mind and take you up on that shower after all.”

Halla. In my shower. Oh God. “I hope you do.”

"What?" Her eyes are large as she gazes up at me. Her mouth is slightly open, and that’s when I notice a tiny speck of cheese next to it. I reach out and wipe it off with my thumb. How I managed to do that with my thumb, and not with a swipe of my tongue, is beyond me.

“I said, I hope you do.” I repeat my invitation, then smile.

Halla looks a bit dreamy, almost  dazed. I reach out and squeeze her shoulder.

“Bye, Halla. See you later?” I smile at her.

“Yeah. See you later.”

“Email me, yeah?” I don’t want her to forget.

“What? Oh yes.” She jerks her head a little and smiles up at me again. So lovely. She’s so lovely. “Later. Soon.”

I look up to see Maurel grinning at the two of us.

“Bye!” I salute Maurel the unwitting matchmaker with my hot dog. “Thanks for the dog!”

“Bye Snuggums!” Maurel laughs and I join her before I look back down at Halla.

“Snuggums?” She returns my smile, then looks at Maurel. “Did you just call him Snuggums?”

“I most surely did!” Maurel crows.

“Maurel, don’t you mean Officer Snuggums?” Halla smirks, which just makes me laugh.

“YESSSSSSS!” Maurel cracks up, then goes back to wiping down the countertop.

Halla returns her gaze to me. I can feel myself smirking. I can’t help it, I’m enjoying this all too much.

“Officer Snuggums? That’s cute. That’s very cute.” I sigh. A lock of Halla’s hair has fallen into her eyes, and I will myself not to push it behind her ear, as badly as I want to touch her again.

“I know.” She shrugs, then looks a little bashful. “I’m a funny girl.”

“Yes, I think I see that now.”

“And you will see me later.” She bites her lip.

“Yes,” I breathe. “I most certainly will.”

I wait a moment, commit this moment to memory, mentally trace the curve of her lips, the look of her eyes, the movement of her hands. Then, and only then, do I make my way outside, through the revolving door, and rush back to the conference. Where I begin the countdown to the hour when I will see her again.


End file.
